


Chiaroscuro

by wreathed



Category: British Comedy RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 14:32:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14956442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreathed/pseuds/wreathed
Summary: It's the middle of the night and David's caught the last train going to Charlie's flat. Maybe honesty's easier in the dark.





	Chiaroscuro

David may have drunk two bottles of real ale three hours ago, in the privacy of his own home, but that’s not a sufficient amount of alcohol to act as a reasonable alibi as to why he has taken the last tube running to ring the doorbell of Charlie’s flat in the earliest hours of Thursday morning. 

Charlie hadn’t responded to his short message, saying that he was in the neighbourhood – if that neighbourhood was ‘the Greater London area’, perhaps he could be described as telling the truth – and could he pop by. Charlie’s curtains are closed and, inside, the light are off. With a sudden spike of fear, David belatedly realises that Charlie might be asleep or might not even be in, or, worse, is deliberately ignoring his message. But sure enough, after a brief delay, there is the click of a latch and the front door opens.

Charlie looks surprised but not displeased when he sees it’s David who’s standing there. David’s eyes fall over Charlie’s bare arms, which are sticking out of a thin grey t-shirt with a small hole near the hem and the remains of a stain from what might have been ketchup. Looking down, Charlie’s feet are bare too, and David notices that his jeans have been put on so hastily only one button on the fly is done up, and on the wrong buttonhole. Underneath, he can see, he thinks, the dark fabric of Charlie’s underwear–

Then David realises where he’s been looking, possibly quite obviously, and hastily reverts to staring at Charlie’s face.

“Are you alright?” David says. “You look like you’ve been startled by a fire alarm.”

“Well, I’ve been startled by the _doorbell_ ,” Charlie says. “I wasn’t expecting anyone at this time of night… No, sorry, it’s fine, come in,” Charlie says at David’s unfortunately evident blanch. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I did text you, you know,” David says, a little prissily.

“Right, sorry. I probably didn’t… I’ve been…”

David brain fills with a sort of fuzzy static as he starts to imagine what’s recently been looping around in his head far too often, as he thinks about what Charlie… might have been doing.

“You’ve been what?” David says around a dry sort of swallow.

“Mainlining Sniper Elite V2,” Charlie says sheepishly. “Look.”

He gets David to step over the threshold with a jerk of his head, David shutting the front door behind him. They go through to the living room: David lingers near the doorway, Charlie walks around the coffee table and moves closer to the sofa. The pause screen of the game blares brightly from the screen, grey and white, the depicted light fixture occasionally flickering.

“Really?” David says.

“My advance copy was delivered today. Why would I put myself through the rigmarole of wearing trousers when I’m sitting on the sofa alone at home?”

“Of course, I’m most comfortable when I’m alone, but wearing clothes.”

Charlie laughs, which makes David’s brain go a bit static-y again. “That’s a good joke,” he says.

“Well, yes and no,” David says, but, not unkindly, Charlie doesn’t dwell on it. 

”So,” Charlie says, looking as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands. He shouldn’t have come over, David thinks; he shouldn’t have come.

“Sorry to intrude,” David says. “On all the murder.”

“You’re not,” Charlie replies. “You were in the neighbourhood.”

“Yes,” David says simply.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” Charlie asks. “Otherwise you’re very welcome to watch me shoot Nazis in incredibly graphic detail, or if you want to make use of the spare room – sorry if I’m not making much sense, I haven’t really talked to another human being today– ”

“Charlie,” David says to interrupt him, immediately after taking a deep breath in. “You know that really impressively mature conversation we had a few weeks ago, after impressively only getting a little bit drunk, about the fact that we were both attracted to each other but it would be a stupid idea to do anything about it?”

“That impressively mature conversation that we had a few weeks ago right after I had kissed you? Yeah,” Charlie says, looking – if David’s eyes weren’t completely deceiving him – a little hopeful. 

It tumbles out of him in a rush. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot. And I’m only interested in you. I mean – I don’t mean that to be especially romantic! I mean, when I think about you, you’re on your own. If I’m involved, it ruins it. That’s why I pulled away when you kissed me.”

Charlie stares at him for a couple of seconds after David abruptly finally shuts himself up, then blinks. David expects Charlie to deluge him with questions, but he doesn’t – at least, not in this particular moment. 

“What do you think about me doing when you’re thinking of me?” Charlie says, looking across at David with a renewed expression of rapt attention.

“What do you think I'm thinking about?” David snaps, flustered from his self-inflicted feelings exposure. “I think about you wanking yourself with your fingers up your arse and then coming absolutely everywhere.” Suddenly realising what he's just said, David presses his lips together firmly, feeling a searing blush run across his face.

“I do that sometimes,” Charlie admits, looking slightly smirky in a way that makes David’s heart hammer in his chest. “When I've got some time. Otherwise it's just, you know, the standard utilitarian.” 

“Anyway, I’m just setting out all – well, some – of my neuroses out to you.” David says, suddenly finding it difficult to look Charlie in the eye. “So you know why I said it would be a stupid idea for us to get off with each other. But– ”

“I could show you,” Charlie says, cutting across him.

“What?” David says, caught off-guard.

“Just me,” Charlie is saying, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “You watching me. If, for some unfathomable reason, me doing that would be something you’d be into– ”

“Fuck,” David says under his breath, imagining it – a sort of greatest hits highlights reel playing in his mind of all the terrible brilliant thoughts about Charlie he’s had over the past few weeks, except even reimagining all of them seems like a waste of time when the real Charlie is standing _right here_. “Please, yes.”

Charlie looks right at David with his darkening gaze, and David is made hyperaware of the prickle of sweat across his body, the laxness of his lower lip. Momentarily, Charlie sways on the spot and looks as if he is going to move towards David, but he doesn’t; he stays standing in his current place.

David wonders what it would be like to stay in this moment forever: just the silence of the warm, night-time room, filled only with the whirr of the games console and the light of the TV screen and David and Charlie’s breathing. It’s not something he can know: time can only run forwards. Things will continue to happen. Most of those things will be outside of his control, but in the moments following this one there can simply be something that Charlie has offered, and David has chosen.

If he’s truly incapable of initiating anything, David considers, then he would still be in his flat, drinking beer alone.

“OK,” Charlie says.

*

The clocks don’t tick. Perhaps ones that tick would interfere with the sound. David sits down on the coffee table normally covered in notes and remotes and a laptop and things from when Charlie’s filming, facing Charlie, and Charlie sits down on the sofa, pulls off his t-shirt (David’s watching – the slope of his shoulders, the crease in the middle of his stomach) and unfastens his buttoned-up-wrong jeans.

Charlie’s lit at the edges by the bright flickering light of the TV and, softly, by a light that’s been left on upstairs. David’s body throws most of Charlie’s left side into shadow. Their knees are almost, but not quite, touching.

“It’s not quite the right angle,” David says, and smiles as Charlie grins. The camera tripod, bereft of a camera, is in its usual place between the coffee table and the wall.

“I’m sure we can– if you want, I mean.”

“It’s OK,” David says languidly. “I was joking. I have definitely _never_ got off to you shouting on television.”

“Jesus,” Charlie says. “I’m never going to be able to film anything here again without going bright red.”

“Embarrassing yourself,” David says, starting to smile again.

“It’s what I tend to find myself doing.”

“Well, you’re not from my perspective. I’m the one who’s being bloody mental.”

“You’re not,” Charlie says, then opens his mouth as if he has more to say, before falling silent again. He looks away for a moment, then looks right into David’s eyes as he covers with his hand the line of his rapidly hardening cock, visible underneath the fabric of his underwear and the vee of his unfastened jeans.

“David– ” Charlie says throatily, eyes fluttering shut from the teasing pressure he’s applying to himself

“Just you,” David says, voice catching. “Pretend I’m not here.”

“Who says I’ve never said your name when I’m alone,” Charlie says, looking right at David once more, and David is only part-conscious of the way his own hands grips the fabric of his trousers and twist, his breath hitching.

 _No-one does that_ , he thinks wildly, as Charlie’s eyes half-close again, as David watches Charlie cupping his hard-on through his dark-coloured underwear. _No-one actually moans another person’s name while getting themselves off._ Whether the performance is embellished or not, his body doesn’t care. He feels his legs part a little wider, the sweat on his palms. The feeling of his own erection, untouched and uncomfortably tight in his trousers.

Around his own breathing, he hears the sharpness of Charlie’s breath, and it’s not a sound he wants to forget. None of this is something he wants to forget.

David’s eyes are drawn to Charlie’s hips as they cant upwards, then to the grip of Charlie’s fingers as they push down his jeans to just past his knees. He squeezes himself once through his boxers and gives out a tiny guttural sound, and David gasps in response. After Charlie takes in one deep breath, perhaps from sensation, perhaps for courage, he grasps the top of his boxer shorts and pushes them down until they join his jeans, the waistband slowly dragging against his eventually-revealed erection.

Charlie’s cock is large, hard and shiny at the head from precome. David feels the thrumming jump of his insides at the sight of it.

Charlie takes a shuddery kind of breath as he at last takes his right hand and tightly grasps the length of his cock. He breathes in and out, long and slow, as he strokes himself, initially slowly, and David can’t tear his eyes away from the head of his cock disappearing, appearing, disappearing from his tightly-closed fist.

David’s own hands are shoved hastily under his thighs. He wants to touch Charlie, he realises. He wants to, but can’t – his own stupid, self-imposed rule. Yes, it would be him doing the touching – an unfortunate side-effect for Charlie – but it would also means he might get to feel the heat of Charlie’s skin, might get to make Charlie pant and moan. Might get to kiss him again, and this time not pull away.

Slowly and deliberately, Charlie raises his left hand upwards, takes his first two fingers and pushes them into his own mouth. He sucks on them to get them wet, his lips tight, and pushes them in down to the knuckle. When Charlie’s cheeks are hollowed out around his own flesh, the soft sounds his sucking mouth is making only broken by his quiet, unselfconscious hums of pleasure, Charlie looks straight at David again, pupils dark, lips pink and shiny and filled, and David has to tense his thighs and breathe hard in order to stop himself from thrusting pathetically against thin air.

There is a gentle tremble to Charlie’s thighs as he nears completion, as he lifts himself up just enough to take his left hand and smoothly _push_ into himself, just as David had imagined it.

Charlie grunts, shudders; the urge David has to push his own hand against his insistent erection is overwhelming. He can’t stop thinking about Charlie’s increasingly desperate breathing: how it sounds in the room, the increasing frequency and volume. He can’t see properly, but David _knows_ Charlie’s got two of his own fingers inside himself and what he can see – his stomach swoops – is how Charlie, still fucking his right hand’s grasp, rocks backwards and forwards against the slick fingers of his left.

Charlie speeds up the hand on his cock and bites down on his bottom lip. His breathing gets louder still, and then he gasps out one hoarse, hot sound and David watches as Charlie orgasms, striping come across his bare chest.

“Thank you,” David says quietly. Charlie is still breathing hard. Any remaining hot blood left in David’s body, it seems, has rushed to his aching erection, still untouched. Not once has Charlie gone against his word and the scenario and dragged David into participation.

Charlie, slumped against the back of the sofa, chest covered in his own come (David’s cock gives an appreciative twitch at the sight) gives David an insouciant smile and leans forward, his forearms resting on his spread thighs. “If you would be comfortable with it,” he says sincerely. “I would love to suck you.”

“I– ” manages David, articulately. His heart’s hammering. His whole _body’s_ hammering.

Charlie folds himself into the small space between the sofa and the table, between David’s legs, his feet and knees making scraping sounds against the carpet. Charlie’s on his knees, looking up at David from the half-shadows, even though he’s already come.

“Yes,” David says in a hoarse whisper, wanting it as much as he thinks he’s ever wanted anything. “I think I could just about be comfortable with that.”

If he feels too exposed, he promises himself recklessly, he can always close his eyes.

He reaches for the button at the top of his trousers and then for the zip of his fly, giving out a tiny moan at the slight, longed-for pressure of his own fingers, and opens the fastening. The sound of the zip is so _loud_ in the quiet room he almost wants to cough over it. A small amount of the pressure on his cock dissipates.

Charlie still doesn’t move, just looks up at him from his space on the floor with a gaze that defiantly refuses to shift away. David feels his shuddery breath quicken once more as he swallows and shoves down the waistband of his underwear, groaning as it briefly pushes over his neglected cock, until his underwear and his trousers are pushed down to the floor. He undoes the bottom button of his shirt and pushes his shirttails aside. His feet are still in his ordinary, sensible shoes.

His cock is a mess: flushed dark and gleaming with precome, showing up his desperation for release. He wonders what it makes Charlie think of him.

David does scrunch his eyes closed for a moment then, so much of him being on show to Charlie, and he doesn’t feel able to introduce something as concrete as words into the dark heavy quiet air. Then he feels Charlie’s breath on his erection before Charlie’s mouth gets there; it makes his cock jerk and his eyes fly open. Charlie look up at him, one corner of his mouth lifting upwards, pleased.

Fervently, Charlie take the head of David’s cock in his mouth, and it shocks a pathetic kind of whine from him. Improbably, Charlie moans in response, the vibrations bringing David further pleasure, and David feels the stretch of his ever-tense neck as he lets his head fall back, his eyes now on the dimly-lit ceiling. His hands grip the edge of the table tightly as Charlie’s tongue flatly covers the whole head of his cock, then runs along his slit and down to his erection’s underside. It matters less now if he looks like a fool, as Charlie’s eyes have closed in gratifying contentment.

David’s body runs even hotter when Charlie’s mouth leaves its present position only to slide down further and tighter. David lets his head falls forward again, because he has to see this, and it’s getting harder and harder to think about how he might sound, how he might look, because it’s difficult to think much about anything at all as his world begins to narrow down to only the tight, wet heat of Charlie’s mouth on his cock. Charlie’s _mouth_ on _his_ – 

So close as he is, David gives an involuntary jerk forward of his hips and his cock hits the tightness of Charlie’s throat. David tenses his grip on the table further to ground himself and tries to get his brain in sufficient order to voice an apology, but all Charlie does is give out one muffled, punched-out moan and take David’s cock in even deeper, and inside David something unfurls dark and sweet.

Charlie keeps going, his mouth and tongue moving up and down, and David’s been so desperate for so long. David means to cry out, to warn Charlie, but before he can he’s gasping out into the silence and his elbows collapse from under him, his cock slipping out of Charlie’s mouth and his come hitting Charlie’s chest.

He looks down at Charlie, the hair on his chest covered in both David’s come and his own, jeans still around his ankles, mouth red and puffy and slick, and David feels an impressive bolt of post-coital lust.

“Oh my God,” David says, still breathing hard. “You made me come.”

“Were you expecting something else to happen?” Charlie replies, the hoarseness coming through in his voice, which makes David’s insides jolt pleasurably once again.

Finding himself smiling beyond all reasonableness, David leans down low and kisses Charlie deeply, tasting Charlie’s spit and his own come, licking some of it off Charlie’s stubble, and feeling the shape of Charlie’s answering grin. It fills his chest with a tentative fluttering pleasure.

“That position can’t be very comfortable,” Charlie says with a serious intonation, even though he’s the one on the floor, once David has at last pulled away and returned himself to an upright sitting position. “And I know you’re a grumpy man with a bad back. Why don’t you come up to my bedroom?”

“What about the elite snipers?” David says. “Or have we shot enough loads for today?”

Charlie laughs, as gratifying a sound as it’s always been. “That was terrible. I retract all offers. Fuck off out of my house,” he says, but it’s around more laughter, and David watches Charlie’s laughter-shaking come-covered chest with pleasurable satisfaction as Charlie steps out of his discarded jeans and turns off the games console and television and they go upstairs and time runs forwards.


End file.
